Turned to Stone
by FamishedWampa
Summary: AU Summer after Fifth Year. Harry takes steps to take out Voldemort without the help of Dumbledore; but when his plans fall through and something unthinkable happens, desperation becomes the only thing keeping him afloat in a world set against him. He must become like stone or be washed away in the tides of war. Can he make it through alive? Independent!Harry Dark!Harry
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: Soo. This will be a dark Harry rises type story – hopefully it will be a bit different than others. First chapter is a bit mopey, I guess, but the divergence needs to start somewhere. Enjoy!

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**Turned to Stone**

_I_

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Harry nervously folded and unfolded the letter as he fidgeted in one of the seats on board the knight bus. His body moved this way and that swaying with the not so gentle twists and turns. The driver avoided cars in such a haphazard manner that if Harry had a weaker stomach, he would have vomited twenty minutes ago.

Gruff and worn down looking, the driver had grunted at him when Harry had climbed aboard. The black haired wizard had been a bit stunned that the operator had not been Ernie – but a sarcastic little voice in the back of his head bitingly asked if Ernie was on call twenty-four seven.

Harry gripped his seat when they took a particularly rough turn – he would have sworn they were going back in the same direction if it weren't for the increase in traffic. The driver must have piloted roller coasters in another life, for he was certainly no average bus operator.

The ride to Diagon Alley and back to Privet Drive were the only things he had to look forward to on this trip. The rest was business, then back to the home he loathed with each passing year.

Harry was wary of meeting the goblins of Gringotts alone, but they gave him an offer he could not refuse.

To not show up at this meeting meant that he would lose access to the Black Vault forever and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the next in line to inherit would be a Malfoy. He should have told Dumbledore – yes, but he was still angry over their last conversation a month ago. Harry's face grew warm and his hands shook slightly in rage. He held on to that anger as hard as possible he didn't want to fall into the pit of depression and apathy he knew that lay underneath.

He had gotten a couple of extra smacks this summer for mouthing off, but – he savored it. Not the pain in his cheek where Petunia had slapped him; but the fear glistening in her eyes. His was as big as her now. And a beast much different than a sad little boy wanting to be rescued.

Besides, why should he tell anyone one when it was so easy slipping past his meager guard, especially one that was rarely on time?

Mundungus Fletcher had not shown up to his post again this evening. Harry thanked his lucky stars that Mundungus could always be expected to act like the sleazy little thief he was. He was always twenty minutes late, but even when Mundungus was around, he was hardly the image of an upstanding Order member.

Earlier this evening before he had been about to leave, Harry had peaked out the window and looked toward a tree that was Dung's typical hiding spot. The squat filthy wizard always smoked when he watched Harry; he made no attempt to conceal himself as other Order Members often did.

Oddly enough, no muggle seemed to care that the tree often dispersed clouds of green cigar smoke regularly on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays in the evenings as the sun fell beneath the horizon, just as it was getting too dark to see without a light. It was ten minutes to sundown when Harry walked out of he house and down the road before he summoned the knight bus.

He sighed. Harry unfolded the letter completely, smoothing out the creases and running a finger over the raised gold embellishment at the top of the parchment. Ridges and bumps in the metallic letter head formed an imposing 'G' across a smooth shield barring an axe and quill.

He didn't even bother to read it; Harry had it memorized. It was short and succinct.

If he did not make an appearance at Gringotts by the end of today, he would lose out on whatever the Blacks kept within their ancient he believed Dumbledore hadn't given him any information about the situation with Voldemort because the old man didn't have any; he would appear less omniscient and less like a grand leader if even he was taken in by smoke and mirrors.

Harry figured he would do Dumbledore a favor and accept the contents of the Black Vault – not that he was doing it for the manipulative bastard, but Sirius was his Godfather. And Harry needed something – something that made him feel whole. He couldn't possibly describe how he felt with words.

So he would take possession of the Vault. And give whatever he found toward helping the Order. The old money of the Blacks would benefit the Order of the Phoenix.

Sirius would have liked that.

The paper folded up easily along the worn creases once more, Harry's fingers moved of their own volition. He felt guilty that Sirius had left him the Black Vaults; he was the reason Sirius was dead after all. Remus had disappeared in the aftermath of Sirius's aided fall through the veil. Even though it had ultimately been Harry's fault, his thoughts of Sirius were tainted by the bittersweet memory of the lanky man's last words. A taunt that had come back and bit him in the arse. Sirius was a schoolboy that never grew up. And Harry hadn't seen Remus since.

But under all that, Harry couldn't deny a small glimmer of curiosity that coursed through him. He wanted to know what had been kept in Gringotts. The Blacks were an old family – maybe they had something that would help him win the fight against Voldemort.

After all, the prophecy pretty much said – No don't think about that now.

Harry grabbed on to the window ledge with one hand as the stout driver took a particularly tight turn that no normal triple-decker would have been able to make without flipping onto its side.

Hermione and Ron injured and abed in the hospital wing misunderstood his reasons for behaving like a depressed lack-wit in the last week before classes ended. Yes, he was extremely sad that Sirius died and sure he believed it was his fault, but he did not need to have it shoved down his throat that ' Oh, Harry! Bellatrix was the reason he died, not you!'

It was his fault.

And for the most part, he was over it already. He accepted his blame in the whole disastrous affair. The loss of Sirius opened his eyes to the fact that his friends were mortal. Seeing them in the hospital wing only punched that fact home harder.

Their eyes were full of excitement and a childish innocence that had been ripped from Harry during his shock in the aftermath of the Department of Mysteries battle. The Hogwarts Express arrived at platform nine and three quarters, and in that moment, he knew then that they didn't understand. Wouldn't understand until they placed so much hope into an idea– an impossible dream really, that having it ripped away left a gaping hole that could never be repaired. Sirius was a sacrifice to the greater scheme of things, a stepping stone on the path of the most righteous, virtuous ending. And he wouldn't allow it to happen to them.

Harry learned in Dumbledore's office, as his magic pounded instruments to servos and broken trinkets that winning this war against Voldemort would be gained upon the corpses of those who died for the side of the just – the well being of magic, to win. And many of them would be his friends. His family was already all gone now. Sacrifices would be made in the form of people rather than plastic figurines on this chessboard. A painful pound of his heart and, to the soul, he knew that in the upcoming skirmishes against Voldemort, physically and psychologically; he would lose people. And that was the worst part; while many who praise the names of the fallen, only he and others on the battle field would know their faces in life. And in death.

Sirius first– _who next?_ Ron? Mr. Weasley? Remus? Hermione?

The list went on through his mind, spiraling and until names repeated until his mind's eye was filled with a wall of black ink; names scribbled on a future memorial of those he would lose. Convulsively his hand crushed the letter. It was little more than scrap parchment now.

He opened his hand and pocketed what was left. Seemed like this wouldn't be such a fun ride after all. Harry hated the fact that he felt empty, that he already anticipated the deaths of everyone he cared about. He didn't think he could live in a world without them–

Harry swatted his bangs from his eyes as he faced the window. In and out he breathed. His fingers shook until he clenched them into fists at his side. He was over thinking things. One step at a time. Harry zoned out to the movement of his chair up and down the aisle. If he focused on the world outside the window, everything seemed okay.

Everything would be fine.

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_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: Hey there again! It's only been a few days since the first chapter, but I had this one ready to go, so I figured I'd just post it now to give a bit more substance to the small bit the first one was. Please review if you have the time! Enjoy!

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**Turned to Stone**

_II_

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A hand grabbed his shoulder.

On the second shake, Harry jerked away– toward the window, while shielding his face with a hand. His hands snapped up and encountered soft fabric. He adjusted his hood; it was still up, shading the top portion of his face. It seemed as though he was only identified by portion of his face above his cheeks; in most situations.

" 'ere now none of that! We've arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Any bags to move…"

Harry dismissed the driver's continued monologue as he brushed by the man and moved quickly off the bus. He had paid earlier; and from the driver's reaction to his swift departure, he should have tipped the man. If he stopped to apologize for his brusque treatment of the man, he would be identified for sure.

No matter.

Harry would give him extra on the way back, if the driver was the same.

He cautiously looked around the last bit of muggle London he could see before he went to meet with the goblins. The lights on the street illuminated closing stores and cafes on either side of the smooth, paved road. The few that remained open to the night life were covered in buzzing neon advertisements.

An accumulation of dust and gravel littered the edges of the empty sidewalk. Harry watched a cat scurried into a darkened alley. A car alarm went off in the distance.

Just over the lit up pharmacist's sign, a bright spot in the sky moved. Most likely a helicopter, it seemed to low for a plane.

Harry pushed open the door and peered into the Leaky Cauldron. A swirl of noise and coarse laughter flowed past him, sounding strange in the empty street. He walked in and the door clanged shut behind him. No one looked up and he was ignored by the boisterous patrons inside.

The green-eyed wizard wrinkled his nose at the assaulting smell of cigar smoke and stale beer. Be it muggle or magical, it smelled alike to Harry; and it reminded him of the times Uncle Vernon would partake in both when he was a young child.

He stood off to one side of the door and straightened the edge of his shirt beneath his school robes as his eyes adjusted to the bright candle lights of the tavern. The loud noise had him decidedly uneasy; he had to be the youngest person in sight. Harry must have stuck out like a sore thumb.

The Gryffindor quickly scanned the room. One wizard looked like another wizard looked like another. Everyone blended together into an ambivalent - certainly not benevolent mass. He was an outcast in the wizarding world; and he had never felt it so keenly as he did, standing alone in the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry squinted in the light. There was no clear path to the back door; he would have to maneuver around tables of loud, drunk wizards.

And any could be a potential Death Eater.

He kept his head down and avoided feet and jerking legs. Harry was almost in the clear when a thick male torso in an apron stopped in his way. He kept his eyes on the ground and stared at the stranger's patched up boots.

"What 'kin I get you?" One of the boots tapped the ground.

"Nothing, I'm just passing through." "Harry whispered harshly, trying to deepen his voice.

The server snorted. "Whatever you say. Be's on your way then, we don't need no unpaying customers lollygagging about."

Harry hummed an affirmative before nodding. With his school robe wrapped tightly to himself and his scar covered by his bangs and hood, Harry made his way to the back of the noise filled tavern.

The alley out back looked as ordinary as it did on previous ventures through it. Harry took a deep breath of clean air; the pub had jarred him a bit – now that things were much more dangerous. He moved to the brick wall blockading the entrance to the alley and tapped the wall with his wand in the same spot Hagrid had years ago. The wall opened up and Harry walked through.

The night life of Diagon Alley flourished under golden flames hung from lamp posts along the cobble stone road. Light bounced off damp river rocks embedded in the ground. It must have rained earlier today. The temperature was quite cool, Harry pulled his outer cloak tighter to his body. The hood covered a majority of his vision so he pushed it up a smidge and walked into the crowd. It would not do to be caught here by his enemies – or by his babysitters.

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"Excuse me, but…I have this letter, see, and it mentioned possible problems involving the merging of a second vault. Who do I see about that?"

The goblin grinned nastily, sharp black teeth protruded from green lips. "Do you have your papers?"

Harry riffled about in the pocket of his trousers before he removed the wad of paper that, once, was a pristine letter. The goblin sneered. The dark haired wizard blushed and unfolded the ball of crinkled parchment until the Gringotts' seal was prominently displayed.

"Through that doorway, please." The goblin pointed to his left uninterestedly. Harry bit his lip and nodded. He shoved the scrap of paper back into his pocket and hoped he wouldn't have to pull it out again.

"Mr. Potter, correct?" A harsh, squealing voice asked when Harry walked up to a goblin seemingly standing guard in front of the door he was told to go through.

"Um, yes, that's me. Could we?" Harry asked as he gestured quickly to his hood hoping the being would get the message.

"Oh, yes." The goblin smirked before he ran a clawed finger in the door side causing it to creak open.

Harry followed along behind the shorter person. The room on the other side of the door appeared to be a private office. Two chairs were divided by an imposingly intricate desk. Harry couldn't help but notice that one chair was much taller than the other. Harry was directed to the shorter chair and he couldn't help his jaw from twitching slightly when the goblin sat in the other. The were not eye to eye, in fact, the goblin was a good foot higher and seemed to be growing – the chair was magically extending higher. The goblin grinned down at him and Harry was reminded of earlier this year when the ministry had pretty much put him on trial.

"Last day Mr. Potter. We weren't sure if you were going to show up, or if Dumbledore was withholding your papers." The goblin looked down at Harry from his obnoxious height. The desk had raised as well, it truly was belittling to feel like a small child once more.

"Why would Dumbledore be holding my papers?" Harry asked. He lowered his hood back and stared at the goblin with the smallest hint of a frown on his face.

"As your guardian, he is entitled to keep it from you until you come of age." The goblin said. It snapped its fingers and documents appeared on the desk.

"No he isn't. _My aunt is__._" Harry bit out.

Black abyssal eyes looked up from the rifled papers. "Only according to muggle papers. He is your legal magical guardian, and as such - controls your vaults."

"What would he want_my _vaults for? Are you positive it is 'vaults'? I've only been in one." Harry asked in a mystified voice.

"If you have to ask, it obviously does not matter." The creature sneered. Harry leaned against the back of his chair at this revelation.

Harry's eyes widened."Wait. If he's my guardian why did I grow up with Petunia? Why didn't he just raise me instead? I would have been more prepared! For Voldemort and for everything! I could have actually had a happy childhood!" He shouted at the being in front of him.

The goblin blinked slowly. Dark liquid leaked out the corner of its mouth when it frowned deeply. Harry couldn't tell if was blood or not.

"Look, I really could care less if your guardian ruined your life and is swindling your money for side projects of his. You are here to sign this form so that we may merge the Black vaults with the Potter accounts."

Harry's eyes snapped in anger at the thought of someone taking something from what should have been his. Really. He would have been more than willing to help out with funds – he suspected Dumbledore's side project was the Order of the Phoenix.

_Effectively paying the sitters,_ he thought grimly.

"Yes I'll sign the form. Do you know of anyone I could talk to about emancipation? It would be most helpful." He needed to become his own man. Enough was enough.

"Signing this document would be a first step to _freedom_." The goblin's eyes sparked with some unknown emotion, but Harry didn't care. The desk lowered and Harry pulled out the quill sitting, ready in the ink pot. A second later, with his name scratched on the paper, the table raised.

"As to the your other questions, this is a bank. We work with money. Do your own research. Or pay someone else to," The goblin said, eyes focused on the signature. He rolled up the signed scroll and clapped. The parchment vanished from existence.

Harry waited a second and licked his dried lips. When he was sure he wasn't about to interrupt the being in front of him, he asked,"How much – what did he leave me?"

The goblin grinned darkly from his perch. "Hm, the debts on the Black vault leave you with just enough money to pay for half a school year at Hogwarts."

Harry looked up and frowned. "What?"

"I _said_, you have enough money for half a school year at Hogwarts; the debts on the Black accounts stretched back quite a bit through time. Interest rates were quite high when they went bankrupt. It is is nice to see that they have finally been paid off."

"I-I don't understand."

"You just signed away your fortune to pay off the debts the House of Black had accrued over the century it extravagantly spent loaned money. Congratulations are in order for you though. Your guardian cannot remove the money left over, as it is in the savings vault that can only be accessed by the Potter heir."

"Why would he only leave me debts?!" Harry shouted pulling at his hair; he had to do something with his hands - they were itching rather heavily toward needing to hex the goblin.

"I'd guess the late Lord Black did not read up on some of his family's more obscure inheritance clauses; in the case of the inheritor not being one of the same blood, while true kin with blood still live, all assets revert to goblin holdings and debts with be passed on to the wizard heir. You have made my people very wealthy tonight Mr. Potter, allow me to show you to the door." The chair dropped closer to the ground and the goblin popped nimbly out of it.

Harry was numb. He had just lost everything he had never had. And possibly ended all funding toward the babysitter's club that watched over him – though he still burned at the thought of Dumbledore doing that without asking.

_They are going to be kicked out too; the goblins now own Grimmauld Place._ He sort of wished he was there to see it happen.

Harry impassively followed the goblin out the door. There was nothing else he could do.

In the entryway, he turned to the goblin. "You set this up didn't you?"

"Not me specifically. But the goblins prefer that all debts to us be repaid."

"This wasn't fair – I didn't know anything about my vaults or what you could take from them."

"Life isn't fair _w__izard_." The goblin hissed with narrowed eyes. "Do you honestly believe we like serving your kind? Finish up your business here and get _out_."

The door slammed shut behind the smaller creature and Harry was left standing in the main area of the bank. He paced over to the nearest teller.

"Hello, I'd like to withdraw everything I have here before the rest of it can be stolen by you bastards." Harry said.

The goblin fingered a wicked looking dirk that rested on the table between them. "Want to try that again?"

Harry grimaced and said through clenched teeth, "I'd like to withdraw everything from my vault, _p__lease__._"

"Better." The goblin nodded. "Neck-breaker. Take this wizard to his vault and close it off until he comes back and deposits something."

"I'll never deposit money here," Harry said darkly. His hands clenched the edge of the table so tightly they had turned white.

"I very much doubt it; _all_ wizards use Gringotts," the teller said smugly.

Harry breathed out angrily.

He could barely stop himself from stomping as he followed Neck-breaker to the carts leading down into the bowels of Gringotts. It struck him hard.

He had screwed up badly this time.

Harry stared at the meager pile of galleons situated in the middle of his school vault where hills once stood. He winced at the thought of the money gone from the main Potter vault. No one had ever told him just how wealthy he had been – he knew he had had money but he hadn't known that he was bloody rich.

His blood boiled at the thought of Dumbledore purposely keeping this information from him. And anger was good. It kept him focused on his goals.

Harry knew he had been well set for school, but after that? From the amount of galleons he had lost to the Blacks' debt, he would've had more than enough to live on comfortably without needing to work – not that he would have. He scooped up the small pile of gold coins and tried his best not to deck the chuckling goblin.

The ride back to the building of the bank was a quiet time of introspection for Harry. He'd return home to the Dursley's, then come up with a plan from there. If Dumbledore really was taking funds from the main Potter account, he'd find out soon it was empty. Harry wasn't sure if the goblins would move fast for the ancestral house, or when the Order would get evicted.

And if so, he would suddenly be poor and defenseless.

At least he still had shelter and a bag full of galleons.

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"May your pockets flow with gold Mr. Potter."

"Fuck off." Harry replied as he stomped past the goblin guarding the doorway. A moth flew unnoticed off into the darkness of Diagon Alley. The Alley was the emptiest he had ever seen.

Harry slowly walked toward the exit of the alley contemplating the situation he found himself in.

An hour made a big difference in the amount of people out on the street. It was eerily deserted. The flames flickered on and off in the lamp above his head, casting moving shadows on the ground. Harry stopped and stared up at it. He could almost imagine that flame being his current disposition; but he wasn't upset enough to be crying over money he had never known he'd had.

He was pissed – at the goblins and at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore had a lot to answer for, and this time Harry wasn't going to take '_it's for the greater good_' as an answer.

Not when the prophecy boldly stated it would come down to him and Voldemort.

Harry reached beneath his school robe and pulled out the bag of coins and jingled it next to his ear. He sighed and lowered it. The last thing he wanted to do was to be to become indebted to Dumbledore; Harry hoped Hogwarts had some sort of scholarship fund he could apply for.

A dark figure darted out from the shadows to his left and plowed right into him; Harry fell to cobble stone road as the bag of coins was wrenched from his grip.

"Hey! Stop! Thief!" Harry shouted as he rolled to his feet and spat a bit of blood out of his mouth.

The man, for Harry was sure it was a he, dodged around a corner.

Harry took off after him. He owed his Quidditch practices for keeping him in shape as he labored after the figure in front of him just out of reach.

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_TBC_

A/N : I'm hoping that was a bit of a surprise - losing mostly everything. The few stories I've read had him gaining quite a bit from goblin interactions, but I want Harry to work for his strength, rather than just being given it. Besides, I like evil, scheming, hoarding goblins - they are fun.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for reviewing! I finished editing this chapter early, and since posting it would make it even with my other story, why not spit this one out early as well. So here's yet another chapter enjoy!

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**Turned to Stone**

_III_

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Harry's heart raced a mile a minute, cycling and pumping blood though his body. His lungs burned with every breath he took. But he refused to back down and let someone make off with the amount of gold he had left. It hadn't been much, but he had still required a bottomless bag - he still wasn't sure how much he had equated ran hard.

He chased the thief through the zigzag natures of wizard architecture – it was rare that a street seemed planned rather than a thoughtless addition added when the previous areas had overfilled.

Harry focused on two things – his breathing, for it was loud and annoying, and the flick of moving shadows, a wizard's robe not to far ahead.

Street lamps became few and far in between. By this point, Harry was running on instinct hoping against the odds he was moving closer toward his target still. The back alleys between large haphazard buildings darkened the cobblestone streets. The full moon soon became his only light, reflected off the moistened cobblestones.

The hair on the back of his neck pricked up, Harry was sure they had left Diagon Alley ages ago.

_Or was it just minutes?_

He was caught up in the chase, a predator of the night. And the thought of catching his prey during the thrill of the hunt caused him to move faster, his heart lighter when he gave into the driving force of instinct. He smiled slightly.

Closer. Ever closer. He moved swiftly, and the wizard – he was sure the person was male, was slowing after the long run.

Harry leaned back a bit and trusted his feet to find their way. He sucked in a deep breath of air.

"I said _stop_!" Harry screamed at the top of his lungs. His voice echoed off the walls enclosed around them, and for a second, the man turned to him and paused. Harry squinted, but he couldn't tell what the thief's face looked like.

_This is my chance! _Harry thought.

He fumbled for his wand a stunner on his lips before he realized that it would be an illegal casting. And he hesitated.

After the trouble he went through last year for casting a patronus, he was sure he would be quickly roped up by the ministry, and Harry wasn't willing to take that chance. He grimaced and re-pocketed his wand.

He would have to do this the hard way. But perhaps it would give him an advantage; wizards hardly expected vicious fights to contain physical attacks when the combatants were both able to cast spells that kept them out of short range.

Harry extended his stride as far as possible. He felt like a greyhound at the races, gaining momentum to the man he chased.

The square shoulders and short cut hair was easier to see once he was within a few feet of the runner. He was sure now. His thief was a man, not much of a surprise really, but that did mean it would be harder to graple the larger body down when he caught up with the thief. And he was gaining, at the price of his legs feeling like they had caught fire. A few more paces, just a few more!

The thief looked back eyes widening. Harry could make out was his beard and a crick in the man's nose. He must have tried this on someone else. If only the broken face had taught him not to steal.

The man made a beeline to the left down an alley was one step behind him the tips of his fingers touching the sodden cloak.

Looking farther ahead, Harry smiled grimly. It was a dead end. The man must have been wary of apperating, he had yet to make a move. Harry slowed a bit as he came up with a plan.

As they neared the end of the blocked alley, the man turned and pulled his wand.

"Back off kid before you get hurt. Your life isn' worth the bag." Harry heard the scorn in the man's voice and he smiled grimly.

Harry charged forward, arms out in front of him. He saw the man frown and raise his wand - and Harry closed his eyes to slits and ducked his head lower, hoping to be a smaller target.

His heartbeat sped up, and everything around him moved in slow motion as his thoughts drove on like a freight train barreling through stations on an endless track. The view of what he could see burned in his mind. A dark wavering shape casting spells on a clear night, bricks and mortar pockmarked with signs of a past battle years ago – and Harry never noticed such things. But right now he was hyper-aware, and he ran.

A flash of spell light sent Harry in a roll on the ground as it passed through the air where his torso had been earlier. His roll ended into an awkward flip to his feet and he was still moving forward.

At this point, Harry could only hear a hum in his ears, the other man shouted something, but all Harry needed to do was watch for the cast. Spells shot in a straight line. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he dived to the side and dodged another spell. The color had been orange, strange, but not something he wanted to be hit with. Getting hit with an unknown charm could ultimately spell out his doom, and he cursed himself for not previously looking up spell colors.

The man twirled his wand in a new complicated casting just as Harry rushed him into the wall with an elbow to the gut. The wand dropped and rolled to the side.

The thief grunted in pain when his head bounced off the brick wall. Harry smirked and rooted through the robe to get his bag.

Harry was unprepared when the man grabbed his shoulder in a tight grip and wrenched it to the side. Pain flashed through his body and he scrambled to get a hold of the guy before he found himself on the ground, he had thought the thief was out of it. Harry's hands snagged on something – he didn't know what, his glasses had been knocked off - and he tightened his hold as much as he could.

Clammy skin beneath his hands tried to flex. It must have been an arm. Harry clung to it.

The man bucked forward and Harry found himself smacked into the pavement with the skinny wizard on top.

Harry panicked. He dropped his hold on the arm he was clutching and dove for the man's neck and squeezed it as hard as he could.

Harry sputtered and saw stars when the wizard began to rain blows down on Harry's face. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and hoped he wouldn't get anything to bashed in. This was vaguely how his earlier years of participating in Harry Hunting had gone. Only this time he was fighting back. It wasn't a game anymore – his life, his life was his and he wouldn't be taken down.

Harry squeezed harder.

The last time he had felt this close to death – ironically enough – was when Quirrell was strangling him. This time there would be no Dumbledore to save the day. He was on his own.

Magic was deadly on its own, but for the most part it was sudden – like a gun it you were hit in the right spot you'd go down without even knowing what had hit you. Physical attacks were like the nature no one wanted to see on television – deliberately brutal and not always fatal the first time.

He almost wanted to give up, but something deep within welled up and pushed him forward toward his own end. Dumbledore would have wanted to call it love. That love was enabling him.

But here in this alley, fighting on the ground, Harry realized – it wasn't love. It was pain. It was suffering and desperation. It guided him, and his simple wish to not die, but to live his own way. Feeling like his was going to loose everything and die renewed his vigor and he wrenched himself to the side.

He would be the one to win. He was desperate and, now, willing to do whatever it took to claim victory.

Harry clamped his hands tighter each time his enemy breathed out. The punches began to miss his face and when they did hit his torso, seemed to be much weaker. Harry dug his nails into the skin beneath his fingers, and he thought he felt blood leak out around them, but he wasn't sure.

The man wrenched himself to the side in a frenzied motion. They rolled. Harry kept his death grip

He held on.

Harry took deep breaths, one of his arms scraped along the pavement as the skinny, larger man attempted to kick him.

He held on – at the edge of desperation it was all he could do – and he could feel it. Victory was in sight.

The kicking slowed.

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Harry looked at the downed form of the thief and started to shake.

This didn't just happen. It couldn't have.

It didn't.

But the body was still there and his hand shook and he scrubbed the blood off his finger tips, but the body was _still_ there -

But it did.

And Harry's world shattered and built it self anew.

He had killed someone, and it was not even Voldemort. He was a murderer. It did not matter that it had started off in self defense; he could see Dumbledore's frowning face as Harry was sentenced to Azkaban. He never should have come to alley; attempting to set out on his own had only damned him in the eyes of those he had wished to save. It was too late for him now.

But in that moment, as he sucked down air and wheezed and shook – he had done something unexpected of himself, and that changed everything.

Harry couldn't help but feel just a teensy bit proud – not when he looked at the body, no but when he realized that he had come out on what was more or less the topside of a terribly bad situation. And he had not lost a single person he new or that was dear to him.

He felt sort of good, when everything was all said and done. Instinct clouded his moral inhibitions, he knew that he should feel bad – but moral inhibitions had been thrown out the window when all that he had come to expect from the world had changed.

And he had fought a man, and killed him. Chase. Run. Victory.

Harry leaned over and checked the man's pockets; discarding old bits of rubbish and lint till he found the thief's change purse just inside his outer robes. He avoided the neck area. The teenage wizard had held on so tight that the neck looked lightly shredded. As if a werewolf had gotten too him. Harry wasn't a werewolf, but the full moon was out – maybe if he was lucky they would think it was one.

The cooling body had nothing on it but Harry's money.

After repockeding his stolen coin, he looked at the body. Obviously he would leave it here – he had things he needed to do now that his life had flipped upsided down, and he didn't have time to go to Azkaban right now. Or wherever they sent murderous wizards since the dementors had joined up with Voldemort.

But dead, the body looked so small. Harry bent down and grasped the mans long arms and placed them at his sides. If Harry laid him in a more peaceful position he would feel much better about this whole muck up. The man he had killed couldn't have been more than twenty years older than Harry. He repositioned the body next to one of the side wall and leaned the dead bloke up against it. He took a step back and admired his handiwork when footsteps behind him caused Harry to turn – face to face with a bedraggled looking witch.

"E's killed a man! Murderer! Murder on St. Dullahan Street!" A hag screamed when she came upon the scene.

Harry scrambled on the ground before he was able to get to his feet. His foot bumped against something that clicked and rolled over the stony road. He dove after it.

He had already killed the man, and there was no way he could rely on Dumbledore to get him out of this; an extra wand would come in handy. The fact that he would carry the dead man's wand in his crusade felt like a tribute to the memory of the nameless thief.

The hag continued to scream, lighted spells and glows appeared in the windows of the surrounding buildings. He pushed by the hag, sending her into a trash filled dip in the empty road. He hobbled up the street as he wrapped a hand around his torso; trying to remember the way he came.

Blood dribbled down his chin, he wiped it off. He reached back and flipped his hood down. Harry squinted blearily at the wand before he remembered his glasses were off.

"Accio Glasses," he whispered hoarsely. His shattered glasses skittered down the street, and he reached out in time to snatch them up while he fast walked from the area. Harry waited in an intersecting street before he gave up and just kept walking straight.

He kept his eyes moving, and tried to breathe as little as possibly as he listened for the 'pop' of apperating wizards. He spun the wand that he had been clutching between white knuckles. No letter came to inform him of illegal wand use, so the wand must have belonged to someone considered to an adult.

Noise came from in front and he ducked into a shaded alcove before he was seen. A minute later, two men, in robes that were crimson under the light of the street lamp in front of him, ran past. Harry staggered back to the street when he felt they were far enough away and picked up his pace.

On the precipice of trouble, change and evolution occur. Harry grimaced when something his elementary science teacher flashed through his mind.

Harry knew he was quite different from who he had been earlier – molded into a harsher being by his environment. A day ago, he would have said that most things that happened to him personally didn't bother him, but he knew he was lying now. And there was no way he would be staying at the Dursley's house.

He grimly walked forward from his first true kill, and never realized that he had been unmolested through his walk back to Diagon alley from the denizens of Knockturn, was because they knew he was one of them. A person on the outskirts of society, but in his case, he exuded the aura of a dangerous predator stalking through a territory, belonging to him or not – it didn't matter.

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TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: Hey guys and gals! Thanks for reading up to this chapter! Um, it occurred to me when I was editing this chapter that I might need to make this an M. Soo... yeah. I might later. And uh, I had meant to post it yesterday, but between classes, job, and election, I sorta forgot. oops. On with the show! Enjoy!

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**Turned to Stone**

_IV_

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Harry let out a sigh of relief when he emerged in a familiar area of Diagon Alley. He peaked around the corner of the alley he was in, to the left of Flourish and Blotts, checking for any sign of aurors.

The black haired wizard chuckled a bit hysterically – he was more worried about the police than a random encounter with a Death Eater.

His face was tingly and not in a good way. He gently touched his lip and winced. He most assuredly had a split lip, and his face was probably covered in quickly developing bruises. The thief had hit hard, but clumsily – obviously not used to fighting with his fists.

When the coast seemed more or less clear, no stragglers entering the shop for a must have book right before it closed, Harry nonchalantly enter the main road, and made his way confidently toward the Leaky Cauldron.

For that was all it was right? Confidence was key. Malfoy got out of many thing just by asserting he hadn't done it. Well Harry could play that game too. It required a slightly different mindset, but he had just killed a man and got his money back. He could do this as long as he kept it together.

Harry mulled over how he would answer any questions regarding his face. He hadn't even bothered with covering his face, the whole area was a mess and he knew it. Mud in his hair, mottled beat up face, why he might have been something a Slytherin would have dragged in.

Slytherin. Hm. Harry stopped in the middle of the street and contemplated the state of his school robes that were quite clearly a Gryffindor's. He pulled out the second wand, and jerked in surprise when it tingled in his grasp. It felt a bit like choosing his wand had, but not nearly as good – it was like getting a greeting from a random stranger on the street rather than a sibling or close friend. Distant, but willing to work.

Harry, about to tap the red area of his robes paused and thought it over. It would have been more appealing to turn it into Slytherin colors if only because he knew the hat must have sensed an inkling of the person he was now. People would watch a Slytherin closely due to the ties with Voldemort. Ultimately, Harry changed the crimson areas of his robes to mustard. He hated the color, really, but who ever noticed the movements of a Hufflepuff.

Bedecked in Hufflepuff robes, the crest he had guessed on, Harry made a detour to the Apothecary which seemed to stay open through most of the night.

Once inside, he flinched at the sight of his reflection in the partially clean mirror. He looked nothing like the-boy-who-lived. He now looked like the-boy-who-fell-down-stairs or the-boy-who-ran-into-walls. He shrugged.

He wasn't interested in any of the ingredients, if wasn't like he had a cauldron handy at the Dursley's. He walked along the wooden shelves pausing every so often at the prestocked potions. He supposed it mad sense for the Apothecary to be open all day and night, people probably used this the way muggles stopped at the chemist for medicines and prescriptions. A few aisles in, Harry found what he was looking for – a deswelling draught and a couple other potions that looked like they might be of help.

Their was no one behind the counter but a scarlet macaw. Harry's eyes widened, what they could before he winced, when the bird hoped down to the counter and started doing sums as it cocked its head this way and that, eying the potions in Harry's arms.

It named a sum, and Harry not really wanting to stay and haggle reached into the money pouch he had learned to keep hidden.

"Exact change? He asked gruffly. His throat was parched and he licked his lips. The bird screeched wordlessly at him and Harry took that as a _no_. He placed his coins on the counter and the bird picked them up, one by one, and deposited them in the register. When the last coin dropped in, the register spat out the change in sickles. Harry slipped the potion vials in his outer robe pocked and slipped out.

"A butterbeer please." Harry gasped at the server. He had found a small empty table in one of the slightly shaded corners of the Leaky Cauldron.

The server did a double take at his complexion. "Damn kid, did you fight a troll?"

Harry grinned at that and felt his lip split open again. "Yeah. And won. My buddy got the girl though, or will, when he finally mans up about it."

The server snorted. "I'll bring some extra ice over too."

"Thanks." Harry said meaningfully. That was the nicest thing anyone had done for him tonight.

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He caught the Knight Bus on the way home, the driver was different and gawked at him as he climbed aboard. Harry waited for the usual quip he got from people noticing his face – Whoa kid, pick a fight with a wall? - he sat down and held on. About thirty minutes later Harry jumped off the Knight Bus a street over from the Dursley's home on Privet Drive.

"Your change, kid." Harry wordlessly accepted his extra coin back and stuffed them in his robes. The doors shut behind him, and zoomed off with a honk, leaving a strong gust of wind to push by him. Harry squinted and wondered if most random large breezes were just Knight Buses driving by.

Alone in the dark, Harry removed his robe and changed it back to looking as it had before. He gently folded it as best he could around his potions – _bloody hell his arm was starting to get really sore_, and tucked down the front of his shirt which was tucked in his pants to prevent him from dropping anything. The wands, he pocketed. There was no where left to put them and he wasn't sure if they could be safely placed in his Gringotts bag.

He looked left and right but Privet Drive and the streets around it where utterly boring and normal at night, provided there was no magical manifestation going on. Harry cast a quick tempus spell. It was pretty late now, nearing eleven – his uncle would be home and possibly to bed.

Harry walked down the street slowly as if out for a stroll. Running would be odd for this area and someone would be sure to notice a teen running about at night and gossip to their neighbors about the hooligan up at odd hours disturbing the quiet sanctity of the suburb. It wasn't like people were allowed to have fun here, after all. And everyone living here insured that everyone else experienced the same boring monotony that everyone else dealt with. Mrs. Figg wasn't included, she was a magical after all, and though hearing stories about her miniature pride of cats had been boring to him as a small child, at least she had been trying to make his day better.

Harry eyes darted to the house he was looking for. He knew it only by number as it seemed to have a lot of brothers lining this specific road. The house, and its small fenced in back, were all that stood between the Dursley's house and him. And he knew this route rather well when he needed to run from Dudley.

As quietly as possible, he tread softly into the grass near the hedges. There was a small space in between the two that Dudley had never been able to fit through – it was a tough squeeze for Harry now, but he was still able to push through. It was too dark to see, so Harry had gingerly moved forward with one hand extended out before him. He lightly brushed by the drainage pipe and he was in the backyard.

Harry stayed low to the ground and stuck by the darkened hedges, he would have been illuminated clearly had he stood in the middle.

_Almost there! Just one fence hop left and I'll be where I need to be_. Harry wasn't able to think of that place as a home, if anything it was just a place he currently endured.

When he got the the end of the hedge, where it lightly brushed against the fence, he stood. Harry stepped up on the brick paving stones at the back. He was older now, and a bit taller, so this shouldn't be as hard as it once was.

Harry grasped the top of the wood fence and quickly heaved himself to the top, mindful of the wands in his pockets that could blow his arse off if he landed on them.

In a single motion he threw one leg over and dropped to the other side, landing loudly on his feet. Now on the side he lived on Harry pulled out his wands and stashed one in each sock. Sullenly, he walked through the back door that led into the kitchen.

His aunt was there, and she slammed the rag down on the counter when she looked over at him furiously.

"Where have you been?!" She hissed at him. Harry blinked in surprise and schooled his face into a blank expression.

"Out." He muttered. Her face puckered and swelled.

"What have you done to your face?!"

_Having my money stolen. Chasing a thief. Murdering a man. _Harry didn't answer.

"If you tell those bloody – freak friends of yours think we did this too you, well you've got another thing coming!" Petunia shrieked.

"I didn't tell them anything."

"Vernon is out there looking for your sorry hide, and he won't be happy when he gets back. Mark my words. You had better be in your room by the time he gets back."

Harry nodded, not willing to trust himself to open his mouth.

He climbed up the stairs, keeping a hold of the banister. I'll stay here tonight. _Tomorrow – tomorrow I'll leave_, Harry thought.

But his plans of sleeping in an uncomfortable bed in a room filled with well used things changed when Dudley Dursley barreled purposely into his side, running him into the hallway wall. Harry cried out in pain when his elbow jarringly bounced across the wall.

"That's what you get Potter, making my dad go out and look for you!" Dudley said wobbling to his feet.

"Whatever." Harry gasped trying to keep his eyes from watering.

Dudley looked at him and slowly began to smile. "I can hear you at night you know. Pleading for it. For him. Not only about some bloke named Cedric this time. Others too." Dudley leaned in close.

Harry stared at him furiously. "Stop talking. Leave me alone."

"Why should I? Your room is there, this is my parent's house. I don't care who dies at kook school, but keep your freakishness there."

"Oh, go shove it up your arse, Dudley."

"What did you just say?" Dudley asked in a fair imitation of his mother.

"At least my school has girls."

Dudley's face contorted as he tried to think. Harry got to his feet in the meantime. When Dudley was still trying to figure out something to say, Harry began to manually unlock his door.

"Something's different about you besides your stupid face – did you mother finally whore herself out to a better man behind your dead father's back? Oh, I forgot. She's _dead_." Dudley jeered.

Harry felt like a cup of ice water had been dunked down his spine and he turned. Without even realizing it, Harry's newest wand was in his hand. He turned.

"They're both _dead_." Harry said coldly.

Dudley had just made a fatal error. But the smirking bastard just stood there, as if it was a game to rile him up. It wasn't a game any longer.

More angrily than he had ever felt before, and on a night when every thing seemed to just go so wrong, Harry cast the first spell that came to his mind with the dead man's wand.

"Crucio," Harry said, slowly enunciating each hate filled syllable. His eyes lit in satisfaction when Dudley's face twitched just before that fat pig began to realize that he was in pain. The dirty blonde clutched at his face.

Dudley fell to the ground screaming as Harry steadfastly kept the wand pointed at his morbidly obese cousin. Harry watched the boy flail, body contorting forward and back like a fish out of water.

Just as he was about to let up, wand beginning to move up - Harry stopped.

He felt lighter? In a way.

Harry was channeling stress through the wand tip, that was all he could think of to accurately describe it. The past few days faded in his mind as he experienced euphoria close to what some of the potions at Hogwarts had caused when he had stayed in the hospital wing. Those ones had been heavily monitored.

As his cousin tore at the skin of his face in an effort stop his nerves and pain receptors from flaring, Harry laughed in a way he had not since his first year at Hogwarts. It was refreshing.

Harry finally understood. He was happy. Laughter light as cotton burbled from his lips. Dudley had finally scratched of the skin of his face, revealing blood and muscle underneath. The carpet was sprayed with droplets of red, every twitch of the boy sent a new wave of them to the floor. If the droplets had been smaller it would have looked as if a painter had accidentally misted the carpet rather than the canvas with a cheap spray paint.

Infused with apathy and still bearing hate for his cousin Harry wrung every last drop of it from deep within the well of his soul. Every birthday ignored– every punch laid on his body – every instance he could remember of Dudley ruining his life was liberated from Harry's chest as the spell continued and the boy's painful screams turned into moans. The flailing stopped as Dudley's self-mutilated face smacked down on the carpet.

The spell ended and Harry stopped smiling. His brows wrinkled as he felt world wearied once more. But not nearly as much as before.

He had no godfather, no money, and no home. The last one didn't matter too much as the Dursley's house had never been a place that he would miss.

The daze of happiness faded, he tried to rapidly cast the spell once more- anything to prolong the feeling for a brief moment more. He had to know if it was truly the spell or if he had finally gotten the revenge he had never known he had desired. It failed. Harry aimed his hate to the body lying face down and it worked.

The second wand flashed the spell out cruelly and it caused the body on the ground to jump as if a defibrillator had applied a shock to the body. The satisfaction from the spell was gone, Dudley did not respond to the spell past twitches of his bloodied fingers. A twitch here in the left index, a jiggle there in the right calf; Dudley's shorts did nothing to cover the mounds of rolling fat when a thigh jerked.

The front door slammed closed, Petunia must have been outside looking for signs of Vernon.

"Dudders dearest, is everything alright? I'll make you a late night snack and be up in five minutes." She called upstairs breaking the heavy silence with her shrill voice.

Harry wanted to laugh hysterically and shout back that Dudder's most certainly was not alright, but he sufficed with a light chuckle.

And as quickly as the clouds of euphoria came in and masked his thoughts it, rolled out; Harry fell to his knees and vomited on the ground next to the fallen body of Dudley Dursley.

"Some part of him's human. I know it." Harry covered is face with his palms and scrubbed up and down vigorously. His thought's had jumped to Voldemort. And if this night had only taught him one thing – it was that he would do anything to survive, and thrive in his own way. The Order wasn't working, they were barely matching Voldemort and the wizards that followed him. Hell, Harry and his friends seemed to put up just as good of a fight – or they would have had they resorted to more dangerous spells.

"How do I kill someone unkillable? Why am I expected to do it?" Harry questioned out loud. He leaned against the wall and sighed.

"If I don't, no one else will." His eyes hardened as he stared blankly at a point on the wall. And Dumbledore was perfectly okay with that. In fact, if Harry didn't know better, it seemed as if Dumbledore was raising him as an unknowing weapon. The older wizard controlled his every move keeping each fight a perfect stalemate, never truly helping Harry to finish off the one wizard that threatened to remake the Wizarding world into a place unfit for living.

Harry limped to the bathroom and quickly drank the potions he had cradled to himself. The bruises should be gone by mid morning.

"What does he want?" Harry mumbled.

Harry looked up at the mirror on the wall. "Me. He wants me."

The bruised and beaten up face in the mirror smiled darkly, nearly looking split. "But I won't go down without a fight."

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TBC


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